


Flowers, Flowers for the Dead

by Justanothershortstory_sofar



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Critical Role Femslash Week, F/F, Harold they're wlw, Mentions of Death, Whoops I should have posted this yesterday, cr femslash week, graveyard, in which I take "I have so many flowers to bring her" WAY TOO LITERALLY, yo I made myself cry read with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justanothershortstory_sofar/pseuds/Justanothershortstory_sofar
Summary: Someone stole Beau's roses.  Why, she doesn't know.  That's why she's doing the logical thing, and staking out her garden.





	Flowers, Flowers for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, this should have been posted yesterday my bad.

Beau knew, technically, she was too young to adopt the “grumpy old person shaking their fist at anyone fucking with their garden” aesthetic, but when has anything ever stopped her.  She certainly looked the part, with a big straw hat and buttery soft overalls from frequent wear and green rubber boots. 

So when for the last four months flowers have gone missing from her garden, she’s noticed, particularly when it happens every week like clockwork (Mondays, usually).  Therefore, Beau found herself hidden, cross-legged underneath her prize rosebush, usually one of the casualties, waiting for whoever was going to come and savage her garden.  

She sipped idly on a thermos of coffee, peering carefully through the branches.  Her foot bounces in bored anticipation. 

About an hour into her wait, she hears the creak of her iron gate.  Soft footsteps wander through her garden, and a gloved hand begins to reach for one of her roses.  

“AHAHOAUGA!”  Beau shouts as she jumps from the bush, causing the thief to stumble backward.  A few thorns nick her skin as she emerges without warning. She thrusts her bo staff in the general direction of the interloper.   “What the fuck are you doing in my garden?” 

She takes a careful look at the intruder.  A tall, handsome woman, black hair turning white at the tips, one purple eye, one blue.  Beau shakes her head, trying to clear it from the fog of “ _ HOT GIRL HOT GIRL HOT GIRL HOT GIRL."    _ She had a garden to protect, after all.  

“I…. sorry,”  the woman raises her hands in surrender.  “I didn’t think anyone lived here, anymore.  Because…” Her voice trails off as she gestures to the house, crumbling from age.  Beau didn’t use the main house, that much was true (it reeked far too much of her father, for one, which was a scent and feeling she’d rather forget).  She cared more for the garden, the trees and plants her mother had planted and tended and cared for up to the end. 

“Yeah, well I live here.”   Beau lowers her staff, planting it into the ground and leaning against it.  “So why are you taking my flowers? Whoever they are, they’d better be worth it.”  

“Uh.”  She pauses for a moment. “Yes?  But I won’t get them from here again, sorry.”  

“Wait here,”  Beau groans, walking back to the garden-house, which she was in the process of renovating.  She found a thick green sweater dumped by the door, which she pulled over her head. It might be spring, but it was still chilly.  “Okay. Take me to whoever you’ve been giving my flowers. And if they aren’t pretty, you and I will have more words.” 

“Uh.”  

“Which way?”  Beau slings her staff over her back.  

“That way.”  

“So.  I’m Beau, by the way.”  She extends her hand. The woman takes it, shaking her hand. 

“Yasha.”  

“Nice to meet you, Yasha.”  Beau follows Yasha as she walks down the road.  “So who is this lover of yours?”

“How am I supposed to answer that, out of curiosity?”

“I mean, however you want, but you could start with what they look like, what they like to do,  I assume they like roses?”

“The best,”  Yasha bites her lip as she looks at the makeshift bouquet in her hand.  “I was walking to see her a few months ago and I saw yours, and they were just… beautiful.”

A her.  So, to recap:

  1. Hot girl steals flowers from her garden,
  2. Is hot,
  3. IS ACTUALLY GAY,
  4. Is caring (to take her girlfriend flowers),
  5. But this sweet, caring, hot and GAY girl with love for flowers is not single, so fuck.  



“And where does she live?”  Beau noticed they were leaving the outskirts of town quickly.  

“Not much farther.”  

Yasha walks in silence.  Beau starts to think through what she’s going to do.  Currently, her plan was to walk Yasha to her partner’s house, show the flowers, explain where Yasha’s been getting said flowers, and Yasha’s partner would presumably tell her well-intentioned girlfriend to stop stealing flowers from this strange flower-monk’s garden.  

“How did you two meet?”

“Mutual friends,”  Yasha didn’t seem like quite the talking type, but dammit, this is the woman who's been picking her flowers.  She was going to get answers from her, even if she had to drag them from her. 

“And, I dunno, what do you do when you bring her flowers early on a Monday morning?”  

“We talk,”  Yasha takes a deep breath,  “I tell her about my week.”

“Okay.”  Beau nods.  “Well, I won’t stick around for too long, I just want to meet the woman who warrants flower theft.”

“Up ahead.”  Yasha motions with her head.  

“That’s a graveyard, Yasha.”   Of course, she knew. Maybe this woman was a gravekeeper of some sort.  Yasha could seem like the goth type, Beau thought, squinting and looking at Yasha again.  

Yasha pushed open the gate again, walking between graves.  Beau follows close behind. She was familiar with this cemetery, after the second-worst day of her life, and one that was more generally not great.  Her parents had a spot in a mausoleum, had set space aside for her. It was chilling, to see her own name carved into the stone next to her parents' names before she was even dead.  

Yasha stops underneath a tree.

“Here.”  

“Where?”  Yasha sits onto the dirt, and a flood of realization comes.  

Yasha’s hand runs along the smooth dark tombstone, bearing the name  _ Zuala Nydoorin _ in silver gilt letters, and below,  _ Her Loving Wife, Yasha Nydoorin _ .

“Hi, baby,”  Yasha whispers.  “I brought someone else to see you, I hope you don’t mind.  I stole the flowers from her garden, but I didn’t know they were hers, in all fairness.  I’ll find another source for flowers next time, I promise. I promise. Although her roses are the best ones, I think.”  

“Work is work.  Nothing special, although there was a birthday this week so on Wednesday we had cake…”  

Beau takes a few steps back to give Yasha privacy.  She wasn’t expecting this, not at all. Fuck. Now all of her remarks, intended to be jests, sounded really clueless and almost offensive.  

She bites her lip.  

“Okay.”  Yasha comes over to Beau, wiping at her eyes.  “I’m done now.” 

“I don’t want to rush you-”  Yasha shakes her head. 

“No, that’s all.”  

“Okay.”  

“I mean it, I won’t take your flowers again.”  

“That’d be a shame.”  Yasha looks at her confused.  “Seeing how much your wife likes my roses, it’d be a shame for them to not be there.  Come with me, would you?” 

They walk back in a warm silence.  Back at the house, Beau takes her tools out to the garden, digging around the base of one of her roses.  

“Here.”  She pants a little as she hands Yasha a pot with a rose sprig in it.  “It’ll grow pretty much wherever you plant it, just keep it watered. So your wife can have roses all the time.”

“Thank you.”  Yasha takes the plant in both hands.  

Beau dusts her hands off.  

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.  Breakfast?” 

**Author's Note:**

> (Is this a thing worth continuing, let me know. I have a few more works to wrap up but maybe I should add to this one? I just... like this one. Like, a lot.)  
> Thanks for reading! Be sure to leave kudos/comments if you liked it! 
> 
> XOXO,  
> Just (@zoetriestobecoolbutnope on Tumblr)


End file.
